Love You Much Better
by Pengirl55
Summary: Bella and Edward have both had troubles in their lives leading them to become reclusive, socially unaware, and emotionally stunted. As their lives slowly become entangled, they both must find confidence in themselves as well as in their connected futures.
1. Preface

**Love You Much Better**

**Full Summary: **Bella Swan had been through so many friend crises in life that gaining her trust was hard, and giving her love was even harder. Her emotions had been deadened by death, loneliness, and lack of self-esteem. As she becomes comfortable in her reclusive behavior and she moves to Forks to get away from the suffocating amount of silence in her life, she begins to believe what her first friend had once told her: "You will never be loved."

On the other side of Forks, Edward Cullen has been waiting for his love for over 100 years. Being surrounded by happy mates has only pushed him to believe in independence, and how he will always be alone.

As their troubled lives slowly become entangled, each must learn to find confidence in themselves as well as in their connected futures.

**A/N: **This is a BellaxEdward story. I don't know if Jacob will be in it yet, but that pair won't happen. It is a humanxvampire story, just so you know, I came up with it by basically taking Bella and Edward and seeing how many problems I could give them and how that would affect the story. So, please, enjoy!


	2. Soon We'll Be Found

**A/N: Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters—they belong to Stephenie Meyer. I do, however, own the emotional crises that have stunted her characters to my level of awkwardness.**

**Chapter 1-Soon We'll Be Found**

**BPOV**

"Love you, Bells! I'll see you for the reunion!" were the last words she ever said to me. Her voice had been happy, jubilant even, before I watched her walk away for the last time.

Every detail of that moment was etched perfectly in my mind, always waiting for me to look back. Her arms had been hot as she enveloped me in a bittersweet hug. Her short blond hair was swaying in the warm summer breeze. The back of her red tank top was stuck inside her shorts, and the loud slap of her flip-flops slowly disappeared down the walkway.

Four days later, she was dead.

Even before that, though, I had been losing my friends. In 4th grade a tall girl named Anna, my best friend at the time, had been stolen away from my grasp. And before that, in 2nd grade, my first best friend, Emma, had left me for the more athletically inclined Ally. People seemed to drift away from me, no matter how tightly I held on.

Even the woman sitting barely two inches away from me on this miniscule plane wanted nothing to do with me. I could remember one of my old friends, Liz, always peppy and happy to talk, had met her first boyfriend on a plane. Alas I, the friend repeller, couldn't even manage a slight 'Hello' to the kind looking lady next to me.

But why couldn't I just turn to her, smile, and introduce myself? We were going to be here for four hours, so why not play nice?

I turned slightly in my chair, pushing my brown hair away from my face, and opened my mouth to grab her attention. My mind started running on fast forward, trying to predict the outcome of my pathetic attempt at social normalcy. But what if she ignores me? What if she's rude? I would end up looking like an overeager fool for even undertaking this what-would-be fruitless endeavor.

I closed my mouth quickly, turning around to face the window. We hadn't left the tarmac yet, so I watched the large snaking line of people climb the steps into the plane.

What if she introduces herself first, I thought suddenly. What would I say? _Hi, I'm Bella and I repel friends?_

_Hi, I'm Bella and I'm moving to Forks to live with my emotionally awkward father? _

_Hi, I'm so scared to actually be talking to you right now that I can barely think coherently? _

I shook my head, forcing the socially inappropriate comments to fall into the black pit my mind had become.

I stared blankly at the thick plastic window, my eyes traveling the scratches on the surface.

"Excuse me," a soft voice said into my ear. I jumped and spun around to see the wide blue eyes of the kind lady.

"Oh, um…Hi," I whispered, watching my hands as a scarlet blush flamed across my cheeks. I internally yelled at myself for not speaking louder or looking her in the eyes.

My therapist had told me that I should try and accomplish the three socially normal, personally acceptable, and kind acts while introducing myself, or talking to a stranger. She said that I should look the person in the eye, speak at a loud, but not yelling volume, and smile slightly.

"This way," she had said during one of my sessions, "the person feels a slight connection to you since they can see your eyes. They feel happy to talk to you because your smile makes it look like you want to talk to them. And they think that you have confidence if you speak loud enough for them to hear."

I had always kept these three acts in the back of my mind when I was in a social situation. But no matter how many times I practiced with my mom or my therapist, I could never use them in real life.

She spoke again, jarring me from my nervous thoughts, and I could hear the smile behind her words. "Is that your phone vibrating?"

Phone? I don't have a cell phone.

I shook my head quickly, still staring at my fidgeting fingers.

"Are you sure?" she asked again, "Because I'm positive that it's coming from below your seat."

I leaned down quickly, covering my eternally blushing face, and looked through the pockets of my parka. A small silver phone fell into my lap-the constant vibrations made loud clanking sounds as it hit the seatbelt buckle. Every person in the surrounding area turned to face the obnoxious cacophony in my lap. The middle-aged man standing in the aisle with a bag raised above his head was watching me pointedly, nodding at me to answer it already. My cheeks flushed again as I hurriedly lifted the light piece of plastic. It flipped open and clicked into place, the words "Mom-Home" were blinking on the screen with my familiar number just below it.

"Hello?" I murmured quietly into the phone, turning away from the curious onlookers.

"Bella?" came my mom's loud voice, "Bella? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah mom," I whispered, listening to the muttering of complaints around me, "I can hear you."

"Oh Bella," she said, the sound blaring from the tiny speakers, "You know you don't have to stay in Forks—you can come home whenever you—"

"I want to go," I interrupted, "Don't worry about me, mom. I'll be fine with Charlie."

Even as my nerves softened from her comforting voice, I couldn't understand why she would call here, or now, to continue this conversation. This had already been discussed countless times, and it always ended with her confused and upset, and me quiet and introspective.

There was a deafening silence on her end before I heard her loud sigh. "Alright, but—just call me, okay?" Her voice brightened, I could imagine her silly grin. "You can use your new phone!"

"You didn't have to buy me a phone, mom," I complained. I didn't understand why she would buy one for me, she didn't need to spend that money—it could've been used for something better. It was pointless. There was a perfectly good phone in Charlie's house that I could use. Plus there would most likely be a phone anywhere I went—the school would obviously have a phone…or anybody's house I visited, but I probably wouldn't even have to consider that.

"Bella, just take it," she said, pleading with me. I didn't argue, but I didn't _need_ the phone.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the peppy voice of the flight attendant said over the speaker system.

"Mom, I gotta go, I'll call you when I land."

"Bye Bella."

I quickly turned it off, shoving it away in my pocket.

"We need to announce that we have overbooked on this flight. If anyone is willing to give up their seat, then Southwest Airlines will reimburse you and place you on the next available flight. We need three volunteers."

A quiet groan of irritation spread down the rows, families muttering about times and reservations, and single riders pondering the benefits.

The woman next to me moved into the aisle, grabbing her bags and walking towards the front exit.

I watched her retreating back, curiosity growing in my mind. Did she leave because I wasn't' sociable enough? Was she bothered by my attitude? Did she not want to sit next to someone like me for four hours? Was I really that terrible a person?

The guilt grew and gnawed at me—I could feel my head lower like a wilting flower, and I couldn't do a single thing to stop it.

* * *

My heart jumped erratically in my chest as I waited outside of the airport. People walked by, bumping my shoulders and smiling in apology, but I couldn't look into their eyes.

I checked the clock one more time. We had landed ten minutes early, and Charlie wouldn't be here for another fifteen.

Or maybe he just isn't coming, the pessimistic part of my mind said, causing my eyes to tear up and the blush to die instantly on my face. A cold sweat started dripping down my back as I believed that I would be left here alone. My muscles tensed, as if preparing for the emotional onslaught of another abandonment, and crippling shivers ran down my spine. A sudden burst of pain shot through my stomach, and I automatically wrapped my arms around my waist

The thick parka wrapped around my shoulders did nothing to quell my shaking or warm my now frigid body.

I could imagine how strange I must appear to any passersby: A short, average looking seventeen year old girl standing out on the rainy streets of Forks with one small duffel bag by her feet.

But that wasn't the worst part. People must notice my stark white face, or the seizure-like shaking that wracked my body. Or maybe the sweat on my back had already soaked through my clothing, and the stares I was receiving were simply for the huge wet stain in my coat. I could feel hundreds of eyes burning holes in my skull, making derisive comments about me to themselves. My muscles tensed as I prepared for the laughter that would undoubtedly come, mocking me for my ridiculous attempts at being socially normal. I imagined I would start to cry when they pierced the air, even though I should've been used to it by now.

For someone as horrifyingly awkward as I am, I should've been able to stop myself from crying. But with all these people, it was hard to use my relaxation techniques in public.

I nervously glanced around, checking to see how many snide glares I was attracting, but the sidewalk was almost empty of people. Only one old man sat nearly ten feet away on a tiny plastic bench. He wasn't even looking in my direction, but I could've sworn that crowds of people were staring at me.

With shaking fingers, I pulled the small silver phone from my pocket, dialing the number of my therapist quickly. She picked up, speaking sweetly in her professional tone.

"Hello, Dr. Elizabeth Carmen speaking."

"Lizzy," I mumbled, barely holding my nervous tears back, "it's Bella."

"Bella!" she cried, her voice changing from that of my doctor to that of my friend, "What's wrong honey?"

"I—I…think I'm having another panic attack." My voice rose into a shrill squeak, and I couldn't help the tears that poured from my eyes in rivulets. I crouched down, resting my forehead on my knees while clutching the phone to my ear.

"What's happening, Bella?" her voice calmly asked in my ear, "Where are you?"

"I—I'm waiting for Charlie, a—at the a—airport. But he's n—not c—coming." My sniffles interrupted my words, making me think that she wouldn't be able to understand me at all.

"How do you know he's not coming, Bella? Did he call you to let you know?"

"N—No," I whispered back.

"Did somebody else call for him?"

"N—No," I said again.

"Then how do you know Bella?"

I was silent. How did I know he wasn't coming?

"Oh," I gasped as realization hit. "I convinced myself that I was being abandoned."

"I'm sorry Bella," she said, "that must have been terrifying."

My thoughts raced, pulsing confidence through my limbs. I'd done this before back home—convincing myself that everyone was abandoning me. It's happened once after a school field trip.

My mom had driven me to school that day so she could use the car, so when the buses dropped us back off at the school parking lots, she was supposed to pick me up. I'd waited a half hour, but she never showed. It was too far for me to walk home, and I had no money for a bus. In that moment I'd convinced myself that Renée would never come, that she had moved on in her life with Phil and wasn't coming back for me.

"Lizzy," I murmured again, once I'd resigned myself to accepting the blame for my paranoia. "What can I do next time to, you know, stop the attack?" My breathing was labored and my calves ached from crouching on the sidewalk, so I just sat, letting the wet pavement soak my jeans.

"Bella, it's not going to be easy to control your paranoia, it will take a lot of will power and you're going to need to just throw yourself into deep waters sometimes, hon. It's a long road that will begin with hard practice and will end with your happiness."

"I know that," I muttered defensively, thinking of the last hundred times she'd said that. I knew I'd have to give up a lot, but it was just so much easier to spare myself the embarrassment and pain by not changing. Change was bad for me, it had always been horrible, and I didn't see why changing now would help me.

"I know I have to work for it, Lizzy, but can't I just call you when I'm having trouble?"

There was silence on the other line and Dr. Carmen gathered her thoughts. "Bella," she spoke calmly and professionally, "you cannot keep calling me like this. You know that. I've already contacted the local hospital in Forks and have set up a meeting with you and a Dr. Natalie Moore. I've heard good things about her, Bella—don't be nervous. I've told her about your situation and she seems like a great person to talk with when you have problems."

She stopped, waiting for my response, but I felt so strongly opposed to getting to know a new psychologist that I couldn't talk beyond the knot in my throat.

"I've also contacted the hospital about finding a good doctor for you. I know you like having someone who is easy to talk to about little things and doesn't mind having a patient who's a bit of a hypochondriac."

"I'm _not_ a hypochondriac," I blurted, hating the reminders of my past.

"You're not as bad as you used to be, but you've got to admit you always thought you had a different disease every time I saw you. Remember when you were twelve and I had to convince you that you didn't have cancer, diabetes, or lupus?"

I remained silent while she reminisced.

"But anyway, Bella, the hospital said that the best doctor to see would be a Dr. Carlisle Cullen. He's the head of surgery, but he said he would be your general practitioner under the special circumstance."

My voice was weak as I spoke, "Yeah, thanks Lizzy."

"No problem Bella. But I gotta go now. If you're in a scrape and Dr. Moore can't be reached, please give me a call, but you have to give her a chance first. And, you never know, but you might find someone to talk to as a friend. Goodbye Bella."

She hung up before I could respond, but I liked it better that way. Since I didn't say bye, it left open a promise for more. I liked Dr. Carmen, and I didn't want every single thing in my entire life to change and leave me hanging.

* * *

My room was just as small as I'd remembered it. Old yellow paint still adorned the walls. My rocking chair still stood in the corner, and my baby blanket was draped over the arm.

My meager amount of clothing barely filled one drawer of my closet and all of my supplies from home barely made the room any cheerier.

They looked like fake objects used to fabricate a better life—purple alarm clock on the nightstand; white sheets on the bed; backpack and school supplies on the desk; and the picture of mom and me on the dresser.

During the car ride home Charlie had asked me about my friends—I had scarcely anything to say except for a few horrible lies about my friends from 5th grade. He stayed quiet after that, only speaking to tell me about a truck he'd bought for me and the new sheets he put in my room.

The silence was better, though, protecting me in its large thick barrier. If we didn't talk, then there was no way I could get hurt. No information would be shared that could be used against me, and I wouldn't put myself out on a limb and risk my safety for love. It was never worth it—never had been—and I didn't see why I should change that for Charlie.

Now, in this little yellow room, I could only think about the confusion that would come tomorrow. School was hard enough with the thousands of kids back in Phoenix, but now, at the tiny Forks High, with barely one hundred kids, it would be the hardest experience of my life.

I promised myself that I wouldn't talk to anyone, that I wouldn't even let people know I wanted friends. But I'd also promised Dr. Carmen that I would talk to one person, and I couldn't let her down. I only had two friends back in Phoenix, Dr. Carmen and my mom, and I needed to respect the strong connection I'd been able to make. So I made a deal with myself: talk to one person, try to be normal, use my techniques, and I won't have to deal with anyone else for the rest of my time here.

Part of me knew it was a stupid bargain, that it wouldn't be worth it, but I'd do it anyway, so I'd have something to tell Dr. Carmen next time we spoke.

So I sat on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and decided to talk.

* * *

**A/N: I don't know about this story, I really like it, but I still need to do more planning. Please, let me know if you want to read more, I'd love to hear from you guys!**


	3. Where the Colors Don't Go

**A/N: So, yeah, this took a while, but I had to rewrite this chapter a couple of times. It wasn't reading right and was way too depressing. It's still depressing, but it works now. Let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters—they belong to Stephenie Meyer. I do, however, own the emotional crises that have stunted her characters to my level of awkwardness.**

**Chapter 2—Where the Colors Don't Go**

**BPOV**

One week before my sixteenth birthday was the first time I'd experienced a full on panic attack. It was terrifying—it felt like the end of my life—my heart felt like a dog clawing through my chest and my breathing sliced open my throat with each painful intake of oxygen, and my vision went so blurry I thought I was going blind, and so much else happened to my body that I can't ever get rid of the feeling. My muscles remember how they clenched; my stomach remembers how it churned; my legs remember how they weakened underneath my own meager weight; and my mind remembers how it went black.

Terrible news is relative, and considering how I reacted after that horrible summer, I'd say I received the worst news in the world.

Considering this doesn't ever surprise me when I think of the nightmares that came after the attack. It was to be expected, or so Dr. Carmen told me. _Bad news is bad news, _she had said, _And with your abandonment issues, you're reacting just as I had predicted._

Each night was a terror—I'd wake up screaming with the sound of flip-flops echoing in my ears. The blackness would swallow me up and weeping would ensue.

But now, over a year and a half later, these "unpleasant dreams" have become the norm. The loud echo of flip-flops signals the end and I've desensitized so much that I no longer scream. Dr. Carmen said that this was a bad sign, but since it doesn't wake the neighbors any more, I just ignore her.

It didn't surprise me much when I woke up in sweats ready to scream on my first night in Forks. The added stress of a new home only increased the level of the nightmare. My clock said 4:30 am, so I just got up, turning the alarm off so as not to wake Charlie.

The constant whoosh of rain outside my window was my only companion as I sat and watched the sun barely rise over the trees. My knees were tucked under my chin and I had wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, creating a warm embrace around my shivering body.

My clock ticked on, counting down the minutes and seconds until I'd have to take my first steps at Forks High. I was still staring out my window when Charlie slipped in, smiling sheepishly when I turned to meet his gaze.

"Your mom told me you usually get up on the early side." His voice was gruff, tentative, as if he wasn't sure if I were really ready to talk.

I nodded, keeping my voice in to prevent my nerves from ruining another conversation.

"You want something to eat?" he asked, putting a neutral idea out for me to take, "I've got toaster waffles."

I shook my head no, turning once more to face the window. I could feel more than hear as he closed the door, and I could sense his frustration with not only having to take in his daughter, an unknown entity, but also with having to take in his damaged daughter, adding another ton of emotional baggage into the mix.

Charlie's footsteps around the house were loud, letting me know everywhere he went and, finally, when he left for the police station that was his true home.

By 6:30 I was in the shower and by 7:10 I was staring aimlessly out the kitchen window, washing the dishes in Charlie's sink.

\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/

I didn't want to get to school too early, but I also didn't want to be there too late. I didn't want people to get to know me, but I also didn't want them to judge me by what they saw. I hated being known as the Weird Girl, but it would be worse for them to still call me that after knowing me. This way, by following everyone else in my every action, I couldn't be labeled Weird or Different or anything else, really.

As I walked into the building marked as Office I could feel the stares burning me already. Only one woman sat in the small room, but she gazed unflinchingly until I approached.

I could feel my breathing pick up, and my palms began to sweat as I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn't bring myself to talk. I kept thinking that this was the first impression I'd make on this school and that I was doing a horrible job.

If she thought I was strange she'd tell my teachers, and since this school was so small, the student body would probably hear too. And even though I didn't want them to talk to me, I also didn't want them to talk _about_ me. And since this town was so small Charlie would probably find out that he wasn't the only one who thought I was strange, and he might be so embarrassed that he sends me back home.

My thoughts swirled and I knew that this whole string of events started right now, talking to this woman. She would decide my fate, and I couldn't handle that knowledge.

"You're Isabella Swan, right?" she asked suddenly interrupting my erratic thoughts. I couldn't speak, or even nod.

"I thought you were, you look just like your picture. I have it here with your school records. Your old school sent them this morning. Just in time too, right?"

She watched me for a split second, waiting for a response before continuing anyway.

"Well anyways, welcome to Forks! I'm sure you'll love it here. I have your schedule and a map, as well as a list that all of your teachers need to sign before the end of the day today. So just go ahead and take all of this, and come back if you have any questions. Oh, I'm Mrs. Cope if you need me."

Her smile was so wide that I couldn't look away, and I just didn't know how to respond. My body was on overdrive with uncertainty and my mind was stuck on what to do.

Did I thank her? Tell her about myself? Ask her something? Just leave?

There were so many possibilities and Dr. Carmen hadn't prepared me for this. I didn't know what to do; I hadn't been taught how to respond. Her smile was too big and her words were too fast. I couldn't take it in. I knew that this first impression was going terribly horribly wrong and I didn't know how to change it.

I knew that now I would have to pack my bag again and go back home to live with my mother and deal with all the kids that didn't want me. The thought was so bad, so wrong that I could feel tears well in my eyes. I looked around for a way out, searching desperately to escape this impossible situation—my throat was on fire and my heart was pulling through my chest. I felt like I was drowning, and Mrs. Cope's worried face swirled before me.

The sound of flip-flops was welcomed as black dots invaded my vision. I heard someone yell for help as my body hit the ground and then it all disappeared.

\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/

Sometimes I see people who look like my late friend and I want to hug them, or stab them. It's usually a 50/50 kind of thing. This time I just wanted to die.

The sky was deep grey, and even darker clouds seemed to be swimming overhead in quick succession. A loud murmur of voices followed me as cold hands carried me towards a siren call. My head was heavy, seemingly filled with lead, and I couldn't open my mouth.

I tilted my head, watching the crowds of anxious students. I didn't have time to worry about the rumors as I saw _her_ face in the crowd.

Small pixie features with short spiky blond hair, thin petite body wrapped in a blood red top and jeans. Her expression of indifference was familiar, the same as the expressions of my once living cohort.

I could feel my heart pick up as my living ghost watched me with surprise. I wanted to get up, escape the hands that were binding me to the gurney. My limp limbs struggled fruitlessly, yearning to wrap my arms around the girl.

I watched her as the doors to the ambulance closed, whispering her name for the first time in nearly two years: "Alexa."

\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/

Everything was blurry—my mind, my vision, my thoughts—everything was different and cold. I was prodded, poked, stretched, and questioned.

"What were you doing?"

"How did you feel?"

"What happened?"

"Do you remember how it started?"

And so on.

Nothing was how I had wanted it to be. Everyone knew me, they all saw me, and I couldn't even consider how many questions I would be asked on my next trip to Forks High. They would laugh, they would stare, they would talk—and I would cry. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to stand being the center of it all—I wasn't taught and I couldn't learn. I was stupid and dumb and I would never be accepted or simply ignored.

I should die, I told myself, because it'll never get better than this.

The doctors came to talk to me, sitting by my bed and pretending that they were the one I could confide in. They put their arm by my arm, their hand by my hand, and they said that their heart had once been where mine was.

They begged me to open up, to talk, to say anything. But how could I when they all knew that I was just a hopeless case?

Catatonic, they called me, unable to respond lying in that cold hospital bed. And did they expect anything more from someone who shouldn't be allowed to live?

\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/

Even though I never responded they talked to me like some good friend. Dr. Cullen, they said, had been waiting to see me. His daughter Alice had had an emergency the same day I had mine, they said, so he couldn't come back till now.

They chattered at me and to each other, wondering with bated breath if the magical Dr. Cullen could cure me of my problems.

I doubted it. He would only be able to help me if he could read my mind and hear my death wish.

I was told that he was the most handsome and most qualified doctor to be helping me, even though he was really only the head of surgery, and as that he apparently had no right to be working on a fully medical case.

At least that's how Dr. Moore had said it.

Dr. Natalie Moore was the most self-centered psychiatrist I had ever met. Even when she asked me about what was going on, something that was entirely about myself, she turned her unanswered questions into stories about her life. And when she said what she'd spoken to Dr. Carmen about she'd explain that she'd gone through the same things in her childhood and would reminisce about her past friends.

Sometimes I didn't understand how the people who were supposed to talk to me about my life had such screwed up lives themselves.

She came by twice a day, sitting for about fifteen minutes before she got fed up with my silence.

I couldn't tell her that every night I lay awake haunted by the image of my Alexa, listening to her flip-flops walk off into the distance again, and again, and again. I couldn't say that I saw Alexa hanging from a noose in her bedroom, her limp body dangling over the precipice of my sanity in the corners of my brain.

How could I speak and let loose these horrible images that hinted at my emotional dysfunction and extreme insanity? How could anyone else help erase the doom and gloom that shadowed my every move, every thought?

It would work if I took the time, instead, to slowly push it all to the back of my mind and lock it up with the rest of my failed friendships and social endeavors. I would push it away and move on, working to forget the failure and lessen the nightmares and just deal.

Dr. Carmen would disapprove, but it worked for me. She didn't even know everything I dealt with and she was my best friend.

Nobody could help me since there wasn't a single person experiencing the same thing.

\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/

I didn't realize how truly wrong I was until a certain Dr. Carlisle Cullen and the rest of the Cullen family suddenly became the only people to finally understand my distress.


End file.
